Except from 'The Supper'
She puts on her blue coat and checks in the mirror. Too frumpy she feels. So she grabs her grey coat, whips it on and out the door before giving herself time to reconsider. She walks alone, down the Gallowgate, glad that she decided on the grey coat. It makes her feel minutely powerful. She taps a fag out of the packet and sticks it in her mouth. She has to manoeuvre through the hole in her pocket to get down to the inside of the lining where there are several disposable lighters. She walks just around the corner at what used to be ‘FAT BOABS’ pub to see a streak of red [...]
Excerpts from 'Gettin' Hame'
God only knows what time it is. The bouncer had been hassling them intermittently for the last 20 minutes that the bar was closed. It must be at least quarter past midnight. No a bad wee session, they’d been in there since 4 o’clock that afternoon. They were now seated at the table at the window, a necessary arrangement after the sixth drink - those stools at the bar were definitely wobbly they’d decided [...]
The Merchant City of Glasgow had changed a lot in ten years. It was now cobbled, up-lit and lined with cocktail bars and bistros. She probably wouldn’t remember it ten years previous right enough. They staggered down a lane, narrowly avoiding a few severe trips on a couple of uneven cobbles. She appeared slightly more stable than he and took his arm to guide him out onto Argyle Street. He shrugged her off, which in her intoxicated state she took quite personally but said nothing. [...]
They both paused, leaning against the cash machine at Tesco, wrestling with wallets, bag straps and back pockets. There was only one more stop until the taxi home. [...]
The pair mumbled a fragmented conversation en route, the odd eruption of drunken splattering and laughter piercing the quiet. [...]
'Haundin' Oot'
Auch Aye I says tae masel. Fuckin’ pathetic when ye’ve got a day aff an yer sittin aboot scratchin’ yer arse. I was sat oan ma couch, it’s aboot midday. Still, it’s good tae huv a day aff. Makes a difference fae ma usual uni, work and sometimes, second job. Whit am a gonnae dae wae masel? Everybody else is at work, pals are busy wey they’re shitey ‘significant’ others if they’re no at work. I run ma finger acroass the edge ae the coffee table. Fuckin’ spotless. Ya dancer. Naw wait...fuck. No even got hoosework tae dae. Aw this free time oan ma hauns was geein me time tae think, but naw, no again. Fuck off thoughts. Sick a the sight ae his fuckin face, his fuckin stunnin’ face. It’s annoyin, when am busy, I don’t hink aboot him that much unless it’s mindless work in which case I just relive everytime we’ve ever been in each others company. But gie me a spare hour and it feels like a’ll never see him again, like he’s sendin me telepathic messages aboot how much he fuckin hates ma guts and what a fuckin embarrassment am ur. Get a grip I says oot loud. Right.
I spring up aff the couch as though there wis somethin tae dae. I walk intae the kitchen an open the fridge again. Fuckin nothing there ‘cept pre-cut garlic and a couple a onions. As if a magic fuckin fairy had came an filled ma fridge wae magnificent luxuries, grapes, joints a mutton and fresh milk since the last time I looked in. Am no even hungry so shut the door ya fat cunt. I lets oot wan ae they long sighs that comes fae somewhere much deeper and mysterious than yer stomach. I’ll fling ma clays oan and get some fresh air. Nae money right enough, but a’ve got legs so a’ll use them. That’s wit ma granny used tae always say, thank God fer yer legs Leeanne. Ye cin go anywhere! Anywhere. Sure enough, afore she went doolally, she done a lot a walkin’.
I stick oan a song while am gettin’ ready. In my minds eye, I’m imagining that there’s a camera installed in ma room and he’s watchin me. I dress in a self-conscious way, never allowin masel to be totally naked, just incase. Ye never know. I sing loudly though, and pretty well, lyrics I’d sing to him if I had the baws. I think aboot how much ae an arsehole a um fur even thinkin that way. Don’t want tae end up like yer brother. Hinkin everycunts spyin oan ye, even cunts ye don’t know. I wonder wit he’d think if he could see me when am masel. It’s a funny thing being yersel. Ye’re so different than ye ur when yer way anybody else, nae matter how close ye ur tae them.
As am comin doon the stairs in the close, a see ma neighbour fae two up. Nice wumman. Always said hello, unlike some a the other queer auld bastirts roon aboot. It disnae hurt tae smile at somebody. Maste ae them wur great right enough, good doon tae earth folks wae their faimlies and their ain stories and they’ll gie ye a wee nod if they see ye mer than wance. Sure, the first time a met that wumman fae two up we were baith hingin oot ur washins an she asks me where am fae. Gallagate a says, but ma faimly ur fae Easterhoose ye know. It’s a dangerous question that, in the East end a Glesga. Ye never know who yer talkin’ tae.
Easterhoose? Where aboots?
Glengyre Street, near the auld Lennie.
Yer kiddin me on. Wits yer surname?
McKenna, a says, how?
Fuck me she says, I must know yer granda. Auld Frank? Frank McKenna.
Aye! A says, Christ mrs, it’s a small world eh?
It is that hen.
She flung her peg bag back in her washin basket and left.
Tell yer granda am askin fur him hen.
Will, do. See ye later.
It wisnae until hawf an hour later that I realised I couldnae tell ma granda she was askin fur him seein as I didnae know her name. Fuckin eejit Leeanne.
A head doon bellgrove street, ponderin whether or no tae go tae the pub tae see if ma granda was in. Cannae really be arsed if ma brother’s in wan ae his moods. A dae love him, but by Christ his paranoia is a fuckin pain in the arse. Anywey, I’m no wantin tae get pished again, no at this time a day. I’ll be hungover at 8 o’cloack again. I turn right ontae the Gallowgate wae headin intae toon in mind. As I’m walkin towards the bookies, ma da walks oot the Drover fur a fag. Oh ho he says. Comin in fur a beer?
Nah, was gonnae take a walk intae toon.
Auch c’moan, gee yer auld man some company. Yer Granda and Jamie’s in.
Auch aye, awrite then. Jist the wan.
A hate that aboot masel. Always fuckin’ geein in. Cannae saw naw tae nothin. I take my place at the bar, inbetween ma da and ma brother. Ma granda was sittin oan his stool, tight in to the coarner next to ma brother watchin’ the races oan the big screen. Lager please Gary. That’s wan thing aboot drinkin wae yer faimly eh, ye never pay fur a drink – or a don’t anywey. Ma da and brother were talkin aboot somethin’ tae dae wae outer space, how light travels or some shite. I have tae say though, I loved that aboot ma da, his curiousity for things ‘oot there’. I was his opposite is this respect most of the times, likin’ to keep ma feet on the grun. It seemed like they had had a 2 pint head start oan me. A have a sneaky peak in ma grandas polybag thats oan the fler – butcher meat (although I couldnae see it, I knew fae the day that it’d be 2 pork chops, 1lb of lean stewing beef and the hawf a dozen ae the good eggs), bog roll, a two litre boattle a limeade. My lip curled up ever so slightly at the sight of the fizzy green liquid. Reminded me a livin’wae Granda.
I ask him where his other wee bag is, the wan he aye gets fae the cauld meat shop (he usually picked up his hawf pound a veal and hawf pound a tongue on a Tuesday. He says the queue fur the cauld meat shoap was right roon the coarner this mornin. He’s talkin’ aboot somethin’ but I’m checkin’ ma phone. 13.26 – no too bad doll. Ye’ve no even typed a first draft of a text message tae him yet. Ye cin dae that efter the next couple a pints. Then ye’ve got an excuse. It’s no easy always haundin’ oot.
All writings copyright Leeanne McKenna.
I spring up aff the couch as though there wis somethin tae dae. I walk intae the kitchen an open the fridge again. Fuckin nothing there ‘cept pre-cut garlic and a couple a onions. As if a magic fuckin fairy had came an filled ma fridge wae magnificent luxuries, grapes, joints a mutton and fresh milk since the last time I looked in. Am no even hungry so shut the door ya fat cunt. I lets oot wan ae they long sighs that comes fae somewhere much deeper and mysterious than yer stomach. I’ll fling ma clays oan and get some fresh air. Nae money right enough, but a’ve got legs so a’ll use them. That’s wit ma granny used tae always say, thank God fer yer legs Leeanne. Ye cin go anywhere! Anywhere. Sure enough, afore she went doolally, she done a lot a walkin’.
I stick oan a song while am gettin’ ready. In my minds eye, I’m imagining that there’s a camera installed in ma room and he’s watchin me. I dress in a self-conscious way, never allowin masel to be totally naked, just incase. Ye never know. I sing loudly though, and pretty well, lyrics I’d sing to him if I had the baws. I think aboot how much ae an arsehole a um fur even thinkin that way. Don’t want tae end up like yer brother. Hinkin everycunts spyin oan ye, even cunts ye don’t know. I wonder wit he’d think if he could see me when am masel. It’s a funny thing being yersel. Ye’re so different than ye ur when yer way anybody else, nae matter how close ye ur tae them.
As am comin doon the stairs in the close, a see ma neighbour fae two up. Nice wumman. Always said hello, unlike some a the other queer auld bastirts roon aboot. It disnae hurt tae smile at somebody. Maste ae them wur great right enough, good doon tae earth folks wae their faimlies and their ain stories and they’ll gie ye a wee nod if they see ye mer than wance. Sure, the first time a met that wumman fae two up we were baith hingin oot ur washins an she asks me where am fae. Gallagate a says, but ma faimly ur fae Easterhoose ye know. It’s a dangerous question that, in the East end a Glesga. Ye never know who yer talkin’ tae.
Easterhoose? Where aboots?
Glengyre Street, near the auld Lennie.
Yer kiddin me on. Wits yer surname?
McKenna, a says, how?
Fuck me she says, I must know yer granda. Auld Frank? Frank McKenna.
Aye! A says, Christ mrs, it’s a small world eh?
It is that hen.
She flung her peg bag back in her washin basket and left.
Tell yer granda am askin fur him hen.
Will, do. See ye later.
It wisnae until hawf an hour later that I realised I couldnae tell ma granda she was askin fur him seein as I didnae know her name. Fuckin eejit Leeanne.
A head doon bellgrove street, ponderin whether or no tae go tae the pub tae see if ma granda was in. Cannae really be arsed if ma brother’s in wan ae his moods. A dae love him, but by Christ his paranoia is a fuckin pain in the arse. Anywey, I’m no wantin tae get pished again, no at this time a day. I’ll be hungover at 8 o’cloack again. I turn right ontae the Gallowgate wae headin intae toon in mind. As I’m walkin towards the bookies, ma da walks oot the Drover fur a fag. Oh ho he says. Comin in fur a beer?
Nah, was gonnae take a walk intae toon.
Auch c’moan, gee yer auld man some company. Yer Granda and Jamie’s in.
Auch aye, awrite then. Jist the wan.
A hate that aboot masel. Always fuckin’ geein in. Cannae saw naw tae nothin. I take my place at the bar, inbetween ma da and ma brother. Ma granda was sittin oan his stool, tight in to the coarner next to ma brother watchin’ the races oan the big screen. Lager please Gary. That’s wan thing aboot drinkin wae yer faimly eh, ye never pay fur a drink – or a don’t anywey. Ma da and brother were talkin aboot somethin’ tae dae wae outer space, how light travels or some shite. I have tae say though, I loved that aboot ma da, his curiousity for things ‘oot there’. I was his opposite is this respect most of the times, likin’ to keep ma feet on the grun. It seemed like they had had a 2 pint head start oan me. A have a sneaky peak in ma grandas polybag thats oan the fler – butcher meat (although I couldnae see it, I knew fae the day that it’d be 2 pork chops, 1lb of lean stewing beef and the hawf a dozen ae the good eggs), bog roll, a two litre boattle a limeade. My lip curled up ever so slightly at the sight of the fizzy green liquid. Reminded me a livin’wae Granda.
I ask him where his other wee bag is, the wan he aye gets fae the cauld meat shop (he usually picked up his hawf pound a veal and hawf pound a tongue on a Tuesday. He says the queue fur the cauld meat shoap was right roon the coarner this mornin. He’s talkin’ aboot somethin’ but I’m checkin’ ma phone. 13.26 – no too bad doll. Ye’ve no even typed a first draft of a text message tae him yet. Ye cin dae that efter the next couple a pints. Then ye’ve got an excuse. It’s no easy always haundin’ oot.
All writings copyright Leeanne McKenna.
